


Drip

by thatsakitkat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Sam, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Attempt at Humor, Crack, Kink Discovery, Knotting, M/M, Omega Dean, Self-Lubrication, Sex Toys, tampon kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 11:49:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1225195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsakitkat/pseuds/thatsakitkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam chews the inside of his lip and looks down at the tampon in his fingers, taps the applicator between the webbing of his thumb and index. "I'll do it," he offers, hopes his voice is even and doesn't crack or tremble because looking at the tampon, he can picture the string hanging outside Dean's body and it's weird, what that imagery does to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drip

**Author's Note:**

> kink meme fill. [also on LJ](http://idontwant-candy.livejournal.com/14417.html)
> 
> [tumbling on tumblr](http://thatsakitkat.tumblr.com/)

Dean's wiggling in his seat, expression becoming more and more pinched with each squirm even as he's shoving the best hamburger this side of the Mississippi into his mouth.  
  
Sam's trying to concentrate on his own salad, but Dean's incessant restlessness makes him keep darting his eyes up. "Dean."  
  
Dean stops squirming, becomes still. "Yeah?" An escaped drop of mayonnaise is swiped up by his finger and sucked into his mouth.  
  
"You need to use the bathroom?"  
  
Dean shakes his head, takes another bite. "Nah."  
  
Sam's eyes linger on him, then drop back down to his own food.  
  
Dean's back to shifting uncomfortably a minute later. He's flushed and his eyes are too bright, but those are just his heat symptoms; Dean hasn't been his normal color since yesterday.  
  
An Omega going out while they're in heat is about as un-PC as you can get without verging into downright lewd, but Dean insists on it, says he doesn't give a fuck what other people think. He's with Sam anyway, and that deters other Alphas from trying anything, if it doesn't stop leering looks and comments.  
  
Sam wanted to just hole up in their room and fuck the week away, but the world just doesn't stop when your mate's in heat. There's laundry to do, hunts to work, and stomachs to appease. And yeah, Sam could go out by himself, should, but Dean wants fresh air and food he doesn't have to heat up in the microwave.  
  
More than once Sam's thought it's for the attention. That Dean likes the Alphas that scent him and tell Sam "to take his bitch home," and that Dean covers it up with bristling and indignation and violence. That Dean _likes_ the jealousy he inspires.  
  
Dean doesn't look very comfortable now though. "What's wrong with you?" Sam asks after Dean squirms hard enough that he hits the booth and makes Sam drop his fork into a glop of salad dressing. "Why're you moving around like that?"  
  
"I'm having a problem," Dean growls lowly, then looks around the diner like someone heard him.  
  
"Nothin' I can do about that right now," Sam laughs softly, thinking Dean's got an unfortunate boner. "Quit squirming like that and it might go away."  
  
Dean flushes harder. He leans over the table and hisses, "a lower problem."  
  
Sam looks at him uncomprehendingly. "Low—?" he sniffs the air, and beneath the layered smells of everyone else in the diner he picks out Dean's heatscent, and the sharper, coppery smell beneath that. Sam leans back in surprise then leans forward again. " _Oh_."  
  
"Oh," Dean agrees. He gets his elbows off the table and just sits there stiffly. "Dude, I'm like Old Faithful right now, and I'm not even..." Dean gestures airily, Dean-speak for horny.  
  
"Are you sure? I mean, you don't just. Unless..."  
  
"Apparently I do. I've been thinkin' 'bout old ladies the last twenty minutes just in case and it's still..."  
  
Sam takes a drink of his ice water. His face feels hot; he knows he's flushing just like Dean. Part if it's secondhand embarrassment and the other part, Alpha part, is responding to the smell of his mate's slick in the air.  
  
"Well, you ready to leave then?"  
  
"I don't think I can," Dean says, voice and body frozen.  
  
Sam grimaces. "Oh. You leaked through...?"  
  
"I think."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Your 'oh's ain't helping anything Sam," Dean strains. He looks around the diner again, a dribble of sweat running down the edge of his face.  
  
Sam's eyes follow it down Dean's jaw and neck, watches it meet its end in Dean's jacket. Sam cuts his eyes away, finishes off the last cherry tomato from his salad then tucks some bills under his plate. He stands up, Dean's eyes following him like Sam's gonna snap his fingers and solve his problem just like that.  
  
But Sam's no magician.  
  
"Get up," Sam says quietly.  
  
"Mnh-mnh," Dean hums behind his lips, shaking his head, clasping his hands and sticking them between his knees.  
  
"C'mon Dean, you can't just sit there forever. Let's get outta here before it gets too bad. I got your back."  
  
Dean turns his head to look around the diner, leaning forward to see around Sam, and yeah, there's a few people, but there's gonna be more come five o'clock when most people are let off work, and Dean knows that as well as Sam does.  
  
"C'mon," Sam coaxes, holds out his hand, as if Dean would take it. Predictably, Dean looks at it in distaste, but he does get up. The smell of Omega slick gets very strong all of a sudden as Dean slides out of the booth. Sam gets a glimpse at the wet back of his jeans before Dean turns around so he's leaning on the table, ass faced away from the rest of the diner and looking like a startled animal.  
  
Sam feels sorry for him even as his inner Alpha pants and rolls around because God, Sam doesn't think he's smelled Dean wetter than he is now.  
  
There's a damp spot where Dean was sitting. Sam grabs Dean's unused napkins and wipes it away and hears Dean chuckle the breathy chuckle of someone so embarrassed all they can do is laugh in disbelief.  
  
Not bothering to look for a trash can—though there's probably one right behind him—Sam pockets the napkins and turns to Dean, who's trying not to look at anything or anybody, hands on the table's edge white-knuckled.  
  
"Okay, just go with me on this," Sam says before he takes Dean's wrist and pulls him away from the table, then spins him forward and brings his back to his chest, ass to crotch. "We're anxious to get home," Sam supplies to Dean, "so we can fuck."  
  
"Ain't too far from the truth," Dean says. Sam walks them forward, and thanks years of intimate knowledge that have Dean syncing his legs with his immediately, dropping into the role of a giggling Omega trying to escape their Alpha's necking.  
  
They're out the door when the offensive scent of another Alpha pierces Sam's nose, and Sam nearly runs Dean into him before he's pulling him back.  
  
The Alpha leers at them, switching a toothpick to the other side of his mouth. Dean leans into Sam and reaches up and back to hold his neck, laughing softly. Sam watches the other Alpha's eyes race up the length of Dean's body only a second. "Excuse us," Sam says.  
  
"Keep an eye on your bitch; he might get away from you," the Alpha says. He steps closer and Sam pulls himself and Dean around him. Dean growls at the other Alpha on their way past.  
  
Sam lets Dean go when they get to the Impala, and finally gets a real eyeful. "Holy shit," Sam breathes as he sees the wet stain that starts up the seam of Dean's jeans and darkens below his ass, his inner thighs, probably running down Dean's legs under the denim.  
  
"Get in the car," Dean grits.  
  
When they're back at their motel, Dean wastes no time. He kicks his boots off as he walks into the room, Sam following, noticing the wet spot has spread on the drive.  
  
Dean goes into the bathroom, almost gets the door shut before Sam can come in but not quite.  
  
"C'mon man, a little privacy?" Dean says even as he's unbuttoning his fly.  
  
"I just wanna see," Sam says, senseless. "You gotta get some water in you too; can't be losing all those fluids."  
  
"Yeah, tell me about it. 'm already feeling faint." Dean tugs his jeans down his legs and steps out. Sam inhales sharply at Dean's boxer briefs, forest green turned near-black, so soaked the wet spot's started to spread in front too.  
  
"Christ," Dean whispers, thumbs hooking into the waistband, looking like he doesn't even know where to start. He starts peeling the fabric down his thighs. Between Dean's legs, Sam can see strings of slick clinging to the back waistband and his nostrils flare instinctively as the smell of a very wet Omega pervades the bathroom.  
  
Face screwed up, Dean steps out of his underwear and kicks them towards the bathtub. Like Dean said, he's not hard or even getting there, limp dick soft between his legs.  
  
Sam stares and breathes, watching as a line of slick drops down Dean's inner thigh and slides down the curve of a bowed leg. Dean shifts on his feet. "'kay Sam, you've seen. Get outta here while I take care of this."  
  
Sam pulls his eyes back up to Dean's attractively flushed face. "What are you gonna do?"  
  
"Don't know. Shower. Put a roll of TP down there," Dean says, starting to shuck off his jacket. Sam backs out and closes the door.  
  
As he hears the shower turn on, Sam winds up in the kitchen with his back against the fridge and his hand down his jeans. If Dean notices he's wearing a new pair when he comes out of the shower, he says nothing.  
  


***  
  


  
They try everything; fucking, not fucking, more water, less water, hemorrhoid cream— _I don't know Sam_!—Vaseline, toilet paper—Dean just goes right through that. Sam prints off a page from WebMD and holds it in one hand while the other goes between Dean's legs to press down on his slick glands, the idea being to express as much of it as possible until Dean just can't make any more. It takes an hour until it seems like Dean's done and by then the whole bed is drenched and Sam's fingers are wrinkled prunes and Dean's come three times.  
  
That works. Until it doesn't.  
  
Three hours later Dean gets done with his shower and comes out of the bathroom with slick running down his legs and a glare for Sam, which is all he gets for his hard work.  
  
Sam gets out his laptop. "They say it's a hormonal issue," Sam says haltingly, aware of how that'll sound to Dean.  
  
From the bathroom, Sam hears Dean start swearing, muffled by toothbrush and toothpaste. Sam scrolls down the page. "Says you need to go see your OB/GYN," Dean stamps his foot, "and they're going to ask you highly personal questions Dean!"  
  
Sam cackles while Dean starts shouting in his toothbrush-speak, likely spraying toothpaste spittle all over the mirror. Sam clicks the back button which takes him to the search results. He clicks on a health message board with the topic 'my ass is dripping constantly.. HELP' and looks through the very non-helpful replies. "Get this Dean," Sam says, "apparently I need to find a straw and get busy."  
  
That prompts a burst of laughter from Dean, at least. Sam hears Dean spit and rinse, then the other man comes out of the bathroom. Dean's walking more bowlegged than usual, which means he's trying the toilet paper method again.  
  
Dean sits next to Sam gingerly, naked because all his underwear are wet. "You know, I think that thing you did just made it worse," Dean bitches. He twists his ass on the bed and growls in frustration. "How'm I s'posed to work a case like this man? Everyone can smell my ass—"  
  
Sam snorts a laugh. Dean gives him an unimpressed look before continuing, "I leak through everything. Pretty soon I'm gonna have to start wearing your shit."  
  
Dean getting his slick on Sam's clothes doesn't sound necessarily unappealing, but that smell doesn't just wash out and Sam doesn't want to go around smelling like a bitch in heat.  
  
So Sam heads out, goes into a lit up purple sex shop and picks out a butt plug. He looks interestedly at all the other stuff, mainly restraints that would fit nice on a motel bed, or sex swings that would fit nice in a motel's doorway. Getting Dean to participate would be something else though, so Sam skims over them.  
  
But now, he has his flushed pretty mate spread out on the bed, looking at him with a face filled with absolute trust, and absolute embarrassment.  
  
"Get the lead out Sam!" Dean barks when Sam's spent a little too much time turning the butt plug around in his fingers curiously.  
  
"First time we've used one of these; you'd think you'd want to build the anticipation," Sam mutters. He sighs and shuffles closer to Dean, hooks the back of Dean's knee under his hand and pulls it out wider.  
  
Dean flushes deeper. "This ain't about tryin' out new kinks dude," he says, "'s 'bout plugging up this damn geyser."  
  
Sam rubs the smooth surface of the blue plug over the underside of Dean's cock. "Why's your dick hard then?"  
  
"'cause _yours_ is. Our dicks have a telepathic connection."  
  
Sam bites his lip to stifle his laughter. "If they do, it's with a delay of like, five minutes. Sometimes ten."  
  
"Screw you," Dean retorts, then says, "it's harder to come without your knot."  
  
A rush of heat spills in Sam's veins. Dean looks up at him with hooded verdant eyes and smiles because he knows what he's doing. His expression hardens again seconds later. "C'mon Sam," he says, wiggling his leg in Sam's grasp, "let's see how this works."  
  
Sam nods, ripping his eyes off Dean's face and chest, where his nipples rest like two angry cherries. All of Dean is flushed with his heat, like he's on fire inside, from his face to the head of his cock, to the swollen scarlet of his entrance.  
  
Sam traces the slick ring with his fingertip and Dean closes his eyes with a breath. Sam feels his body go warm again; Dean's always so responsive, so trusting, gives himself as utterly as he does in everything else.  
  
"Okay," Sam says quietly. He grabs under Dean's knee again and pushes it to the side and up so he has full access. With his other hand he presses the plug lightly against Dean's hole so Dean knows what's coming, then he pushes it in with the heel of his hand on the rounded end.  
  
Dean makes a soft noise when the widest part of the plug stretches him, toes dancing. He turns his head, showing Sam the appealing stretch of his neck. Sam's heart kicks his ribs; he denies himself the urge to just pull the thing out and fuck Dean himself, but God.  
  
His fingers touch Dean's balls, and Sam looks down to see Dean's taken it all in. He pulls his hand back and looks at all he can see now: the blue circle of the plug stating itself in the otherwise pink glossy line of Dean's perineum.  
  
Sam feels a hot drop of sweat roll down the nape of his neck, tickle down his back. Dean's cock is drooling pre-come in his belly button. Sam compulsively grabs it, rubs his thumb over the vein on the underside and then traces it over the lip under the head. "'s feel like a knot?" Sam wonders.  
  
"Little," Dean pants out, rocks up into Sam's hand. "Sam, I don't think, I don't..."  
  
"What?"  
  
Dean's arms raise off the bed then fall back down, fisting the sheets. With a hoarse noise he comes, his release shooting in an impressive arc that splatters a white line up his sternum. Sam licks his lips, stroking him through it as Dean pulls the sheets and shakes all over, face crumbled like he's gonna sob from how good it is.  
  
Sam doesn't breathe until Dean finally settles down, and when he does let out his breath it's into Dean's mouth after he's leaned down to kiss him.  
  
Dean kisses back like only Dean in heat can kiss; rough and sloppy, tongue worming under Sam's, sliding against the sensitive roof of his mouth. Sam pulls back from itch of it, but Dean follows him, getting up on his forearms then sitting up fully, pushing Sam back on his haunches.  
  
Dean groans, swollen hot mouth slipping off Sam's. "Not gonna work," he husks, "feels too good. I'm—gotta—"  
  
He pushes Sam's shoulders. Sam lets himself fall back, craning his neck so his head doesn't hang off the bed. Dean clambers over him, hand going between his legs to pull out the plug, which takes a few moments.  
  
The instant it's out, slick follows it. Running out of Dean and falling hot and perfect all over Sam's dick and balls. Sam almost comes from the sensation alone, gasping and fighting not to close his eyes so he can watch Dean line up over his cock and plunge down and it's warmslick constriction all around him.  
  
Sam grabs Dean's already moving hips and lets his head fall back, neck muscles relaxing just to go taut all over again when he rolls his hips up into Dean's rise and fall.  
  
He feels the calloused weight of Dean's hands plant themselves on his chest, over his nipples, hears Dean's exultant _Sammy_ , _Sammy_ , and loses himself in the wet clench of Dean's body around his cock.  
  
"Tie us," Dean's telling him above the creaking of the bed, grinding into his lap with sharp shoves of his hips, "c'mon Sammy. God, Sam."  
  
Sam's dick is perfectly happy to comply with Dean's request. He scrapes Dean's thighs with his nails and snarls as his knot starts fattening up. He plants his feet on the bed and bucks his hips hard under Dean's weight the same time he tightens his fingers on Dean's hips and pulls him down.  
  
He's possessed with the instinctive urge to heave himself up and get Dean under him, but he's too far gone to even mentally process the maneuver. Dean says nonsensical things while Sam gets his knot into him, babbling and pinching Sam's nipples and that kinda hurts but—  
  
" _Dean_ ," Sam groans, voice sliding down into Alpha register and vibrating his body as his knot gets sucked into Dean, Dean's muscles clamping down in return to lock them tight.  
  
Sam comes and comes, eyelids flickering and teeth gnashing, feet scrambling for purchase on the sheets in an effort to get that little bit deeper into Dean. He squeezes Dean's hips so hard he feels bone bite back, but Dean still manages to move in tight motions, panting loud and wet like sobs.  
  
Dean's hole flutters then contracts in several convulsions, and Sam hears him make a sound that's so completely wrecked and broken open Sam soothes, "baby," mindlessly and gentles his grip on his hips.  
  
Before Dean can fall forwards, Sam makes himself sit up, buoying his mate with a slack kiss. Knot tucked neatly inside Dean, Sam lets his weight rest on Dean until the Omega falls back under him, back of his head hitting the over-fluffed pillows with a soft thump.  
  
Sam roughens the kiss, taking Dean's plump lips between his teeth and biting, scrapes canines over Dean's chin and cheek. When endorphins from tying start perfuming Sam's bloodstream, he kisses Dean with soft pulls of his lips, then starts sliding his cheeks against Dean's, spreading his scent over Dean's aftershave.  
  
"Not gonna work," Dean mumbles, sounding a second from oblivion. "'less you want me creaming my pants in front of every Tom, Dick and Harry."  
  
God, if only they had different lives so Dean could stay in. Only one who has a problem with Dean being so wet is the fucking public. Sam says as much to Dean.  
  
"I'm outta jeans," is what Dean says, "I'm gonna need a pair of yours tomorrow."  
  
Sam sighs.  
  


***  
  


  
Dean finds them a hunt the next day. Dean gets a frayed pair of Sam's jeans and wears them for all of four hours to follow up on a lead and investigate a warehouse which yields no water, only rats.  
  
"You're soaked," Sam says on their way out, flashlight on the wet seat of Dean's borrowed jeans.  
  
"I know that Sam," Dean hisses over the crunch of gravel beneath their boots. He stops and turns, "why don't you go in front so I can stare and make funny comments about _your_ ass?"  
  
Dean's face is stained red with more than the burn of heat. "I'm sorry," Sam says. "But you know that smell won't wash out. We need to buy you some new clothes, Dean."  
  
Dean opens the driver's side door, taking off his jacket and placing it over the seat. "What I want to know is," he says when he settles in next to Sam, "how long's this shit gonna go on? What if it keeps up when my heat is over? I can't be... _gushing_ , all the damn time."  
  
Dean jabs his key into the ignition. "Man, it's just really fucking humiliating," he says under the rumble of the Impala's engine turning over.  
  
Sam says, "I'm not bothered by it." Dean side-eyes him. "'cept the clothes thing, anyway. We're not gonna have anything to wear pretty soon."  
  
"I'm sure no one would mind seein' us in the altogether," Dean chuckles.  
  
Back at the motel, Sam researches again while Dean just lays width-wise at the bottom of the bed, naked and humming. Sam wonders what the maids are gonna think when they see the state of the sheets and mattress. He hopes they'll be Betas so they won't recognize the scent of Omega slick.  
  
"Everything on here just says to go to your OB/GYN," Sam huffs, scrolling up another dead-end forum. "Apparently you have to get prescription pills to fix it."  
  
"You check on Google's second page?" Dean yawns, smacking his lips.  
  
"Try the fifth page. All the links say the same thing, and there's no damn name for it, so..." Sam sighs. He closes his laptop and rubs his eyes. "Maybe we should try diapers."  
  
Dean sits up, and there's no real word to describe the indignant sound he makes. "Are you _kidding_ me? Hell no. No."  
  
While Dean continues in the vein of how do I even let you fuck me, _diapers_ , Jesus Christ Sammy, maybe I'll just sign up for an AARP card too and start sucking my food through a straw, a wild idea hits Sam out of nowhere. Jesus, why didn't he think of that before?  
  
"Dean," Sam cuts in excitedly, "I know what we can do."  
  
"Oh, please share with the class," Dean patronizes.  
  
"I gotta go to the store," Sam says, getting up and grabbing the keys and his wallet. "But I think it'll work."  
  
Dean looks dubious. "What's gonna work?"  
  
"Um," Sam hedges, shouldering his hoodie on. "Uh. Look, just stay here. I'll be back. Keep using the toilet paper."  
  
Dean shifts on the mattress. "I think 'm using the bed at this point dude."  
  
"Okay just, ah, be up when I get back."  
  
"What're you getting?" Dean asks with no little amount of suspicion.  
  
Sam smiles his best innocent-little-brother smile in a quick flash of teeth. "Stay put."  
  
Sam closes the door to the motel and heads to the Impala. Nearest gas station's only six minutes away. Sam puts thirty dollars of gas in the car to kind of stall himself then heads inside the store with his insides curled up. Most of the stuff inside is oriented to truckers, convenient and travel-sized, including the shelves of feminine products.  
  
An older woman's already in the aisle. Sam takes a deep breath and clears his throat as he steps around her. He flushes as he stands awkwardly next to her, staring at the pink and blue boxes of pads and tampons and trying to remember the terms Jess—who had a very heavy flow—told him the last time he went to buy her tampons. He dismisses getting pads pretty quick; they'll remind Dean too much of diapers. Though Sam's not sure Dean would be any warmer to the idea of sticking a piece of cotton up his ass.  
  
The old lady gives him a curious look when Sam decides to grab three travel-sized boxes of Playtex in ultra absorbency, which must be better than the super plus Jess liked. Probably.  
  
The Beta teenage cashier seems like he's gonna go beyond a look and start giving Sam lip, before Sam slaps a scent magazine down next to the boxes and stands up straighter, reminding the kid that he's dealing with an Alpha. "Have a nice night sir," the kid says after he's bagged the stuff. "I'm sure your girl appreciates you."  
  
 _Let's hope so_ , Sam thinks. When he's back in the car, he's got that twisted up feeling in his guts again. Like thrilling, nervous arousal that makes him feel kinda light-headed. And guilty, because Dean's gonna be humiliated to use the tampons if Sam can convince him to try them in the first place, and who the fuck ever got turned on by _tampons_? Sam knows he didn't before, with Jess, who kept her period a very private no-sex-this-week business.  
  
Sam's got some kinks, some weird ones even, but he's not sure he wants to add Playtex to that list. He needs to be clinical about this; this is about helping his brother out and all he needs to worry about is if they're gonna work for Dean.  
  
Doesn't stop his heart beating faster when he gets back to the motel and carries the bag to the door. Dean—towel around his waist—opens the door for him.  
  
"What'd you get?" Dean questions when Sam's inside. Sam has to take a moment because the whole room's perfumed with the smell of Dean's slick.  
  
"You take a shower?" Sam asks.  
  
"No. I'm outta underwear and toilet paper and the bed's a damn puddle at this point. This place won't miss a few towels."  
  
The bed's not exactly a puddle but where Dean was sitting there's a big wet spot. Sam blows out a breath, starting to doubt if even ultra absorbency would be enough to stop the fountain that is Dean's ass.  
  
Dean's nostrils flare when he looks at the bag. "Don't see how one of those magazines is gonna help, Sammy."  
  
Sam rolls his eyes, untying the bag and flopping the magazine onto an end table. "That's not what I got you." Sam then upends the bag onto the bedspread, little pink boxes of Playtex tumbling out. He holds one up for Dean and raises his eyebrows. "Ultra," he says.  
  
Dean stares with folded lips from the box to Sam's face, jaw muscle twitching spasmodically. "Very funny," he says after a few moments. Then he goes into the bathroom and slams the door so hard it rattles Sam's teeth in their gums.  
  
"C'mon Dean! They're not that bad. They have," Sam squints at the box, "plastic applicators for easy insertion!"  
  
"I'm not putting one of those up my ass!" Dean yells from behind the door. There's a thump like Dean's kicked something. "Throw 'em away!"  
  
"Three-sixty protection!" Sam continues, looking at the picture on the back where the tampon is bloomed out like a lily.  
  
"I don't care! Get rid of them Sam!"  
  
"No! I bought 'em and the least you can do is try one!"  
  
There's another thump.  
  
Sam purses his lips and growls low in his throat. "Dean, get out here."  
  
"No can do. Not till you get rid of those things. I'll stay in here all night if I have to. Just me and the can."  
  
"Dean, out here _now_ ," Sam orders, digging into his vocal chords for his Alpha voice. "Right now."  
  
Dean opens the door and marches up to him, looking severely pissed. "You know better than to order me to do anything, Sam. I run this show."  
  
Sam's eyes flick down to where slick's shining down Dean's thigh. "Sure," he says. He thrusts the box at Dean. "Let's try this, man. It can't hurt."  
  
Dean shakes his head. "I'm drawin' the line here. There's a list of things I'll put up my ass, Sam, and feminine products ain't on it."  
  
"So you just want to suffer. You'd rather ruin all our clothes and beds, Dean? You know, other Alphas can smell you, and I can't be around to watch your ass twenty-four-seven."  
  
"Well good thing I don't need you to."  
  
"You sure? You're completely all right with taking that kind of risk? Dean, the way you smell, it's... I can barely fucking think outside of just fucking you right now, and I'm used to it. What do you think goes on in other Alphas' brains when they get a whiff of you? You want them thinking about you like that?"  
  
Dean sighs. He rolls his shoulders and looks at the box, eyebrows scrunched in disgust.  
  
"I'll help you," Sam blurts, rolls with it, "I'll help you, if you want, show you that you got nothin' to be ashamed about, Dean."  
  
Dean rubs his hand down his face, "God," and slinks back into the bathroom. Sam's shoulders slump. He scoffs and lets the box tumble onto the bed. So much for that idea. He guesses he'll just have to get used to smelling like a bitch in heat the rest of his life.  
  
Dean pokes his head around the doorframe. "Are you comin' or what?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"You gonna help me or not? If you are, hurry it up before I change my mind." Dean's head disappears.  
  
"Oh! Yeah!" Sam picks up the box again, surprised Dean's going along with it. "Yeah, I'm coming."  
  
He goes into the bathroom, where Dean's shifting on his feet. Sam clears his throat and studies the back of the box again, looking for directions. And finds none, just labeling re-printed in French and Spanish.  
  
"Uh, not really sure how they're suppose to work," Sam admits. Both him and Dean stare at the inconspicuous pink box in silence for a moment.  
  
Dean swallows. "Well, let's get it open first. Hopefully it'll be self-explanatory."  
  
"All right." Sam cracks open the tabs at the top, stepping up to Dean so he can see inside. The tampons are individually wrapped in thin white plastic. Sam spots a folded leaflet wedged between them and plucks it out.  
  
"Those must be directions," Dean says. He takes the box from Sam and peruses while Sam unfolds the leaflet, grimaces at the diagrams.  
  
"What?" Dean asks.  
  
"Uh, nothing," Sam answers, reminds himself to look at this clinically. He puts his thumb over the pictures anyway, and squints to read the instructions.  
  
"Okay... insertion... remove tampon from wrapping," he narrates, listening to the ripping noises of Dean doing so. He scans through the rest of the directions, refraining from saying them aloud for mentions of vaginas that'll set Dean off.  
  
"Yes, Sam? Plunger's outta the wrapper. What's next?"  
  
"You're gonna need my help," Sam says plainly, looking up.  
  
Dean growls and snatches the directions away from Sam. He's only got it for the second it takes him to see the diagrams, then he blanches and the leaflet falls to the floor. "'m not doin' this," he says, claps the tampon into Sam's chest when he brushes past him. Sam catches it and follows Dean out of the bathroom. "Dean—"  
  
"I'm not some fucking chick, man!" Dean trips over the towel that's come undone and curses rapidly, rips it off and starts scrubbing at his inner thighs where slick's been trickling down. " _Fuck_!"  
  
"You're a man who needs help, Dean," Sam says calmly. "You gotta try this. No one's judging you but _you_."  
  
"It's a tampon, Sam!"  
  
"It's a piece of cotton on a string! C'mon Dean, seriously? You'd seriously rather ruin all our clothes than put some condensed toilet paper up your ass? Really?"  
  
Dean sits on the bed and starts glaring a hole in the floor.  
  
Sam walks over and sits next to him. "Dean, who's gonna know besides me?" he asks softly.  
  
Dean shakes his head. "I—God, I just can't Sam. 's too weird. I'm not putting that thing in me."  
  
Sam chews the inside of his lip and looks down at the tampon in his fingers, taps the applicator between the webbing of his thumb and index. "I'll do it," he offers, hopes his voice is even and doesn't crack or tremble because looking at the tampon, he can picture the string hanging outside Dean's body and it's weird, what that imagery does to him.  
  
Dean says, "what."  
  
Sam looks at him. "I'll put it in you."  
  
Dean gets a pinched look on his face and shifts. "No way dude."  
  
"Dean, come on. Just, just lay down and I'll do it."  
  
Dean picks at the towel. "God, Sam, that's... I can't..."  
  
"Dean, I put my dick in your ass like, three times a day—"  
  
"Wow Sammy, don't sell yourself short—"  
  
"—it's a tube of cotton—"  
  
"It's a tampon, man! It's—it's—" Dean flaps his hand at the applicator. "It's pink!"  
  
"White," Sam says, pushing down on the plunger a little to make the tampon poke through the applicator. "What's gonna stay in your ass is white."  
  
Dean shakes his head, lips folded in.  
  
"Why are you being such a pussy? You're scared of a tampon? Sack up, man."  
  
"I'm not... scared of it," Dean says slowly. He sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Just... God, this whole thing's been embarrassing as hell."  
  
Sam furrows his eyebrows, lays a hand on Dean's knee. "Dean, I'm not gonna laugh at you or anything. I'm just trying to help you."  
  
"Yeah." Dean jigs his legs restlessly. "Think I leaked through the towel."  
  
Sam exhales. "You leaked through the towel." He leans into Dean and kisses the crux of his jaw, lets his sweet scent fill his lungs. "Let me help you huh? If it doesn't work, I'll get rid of them."  
  
" _Burn_ them."  
  
Sam says he will. He gets Dean a glass of water—can't have him getting dehydrated—and hovers while his mate obligingly gulps it down.  
  
"How we gonna do this?" Dean asks, squirming back into the pillows and out of his towel. He knocks a knee out and brings his other one in unsurely. Glossy slick is all over his inner thighs, makes Sam stare dazed for a few seconds, before he clears his throat. "I think you standing up would be better, 's what it said in the directions."  
  
Dean prims up his lips, but gets to his feet. "So what, I'll touch my toes and you'll put the plunger in?"  
  
A whisper bursts in Sam's brain that says _no, I want to see your face_. Sam blinks hard and clenches his teeth and his fingers around the baby-pink applicator and tells himself this is all clinical.  
  
Dean's looking at him.  
  
Sam clears his throat and gestures with the tampon. "Just, stand against the wall."  
  
"Fine, officer." Dean shuffles over to the wall opposite the bed and spreads his arms and legs like he's going to be frisked.  
  
"Turn around," Sam says before he can stop himself. Dean does, muttering angrily to himself. Sam walks over with strides that feel too short until he's looking down at his brother, whose eyes are fixed on the applicator pinched in Sam's fingers.  
  
"Okay," Sam says, trying to sound doctor-dispassionate, "give me your leg."  
  
"My leg? Was this in the directions?"  
  
"Dean."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, one leg comin' up." Dean raises his right knee until Sam can thread his arm under it and hike it up more. Dean sways on his one foot but stays put.  
  
Sam lifts the hand holding the tampon and Dean's eyes track it like it's some kind of pink gun. "All right," Sam breathes. "Ready?"  
  
"As ever," Dean grunts.  
  
Sam takes a deep, steadying breath. He gets the applicator facing the right way then lowers his hand between Dean's legs, knuckles brushing over his balls. Dean's leg twitches in his hold, then clamps around his arm when Sam brushes the plastic across his taint.  
  
"You gotta stay still," Sam tells him.  
  
Dean makes an unhappy noise. "Hurry it up Sam."  
  
"I wanna do this right." Sam feels the nose of the applicator down Dean's perineum until he feels it catch on the starburst of Dean's entrance. Dean's slick drips over the applicator and Sam's fingers; has to do this quick before it's too slippery. "Okay, okay, just relax. Just—"  
  
"I am relaxed!" Dean barks and makes Sam start. "Do it already!"  
  
Sam's pretty sure there's a nervous sweat dampening the back of his neck. He cuts a glare at Dean and lines the applicator up again, pushes.  
  
Dean is relaxed, from heat and slick; the applicator just slips up into him like poking through air, until Sam's fingers are getting scorched by his rim. Sam's thoughts catch and skip and he almost forgets what the hell he's doing.  
  
"It in?" Dean asks after a few moments of Sam just standing there like a dumbass. Dean's got his eyes and his face screwed up, hands bunched. "Sam."  
  
"No," Sam murmurs, "I need to..." He draws his thumb back to the end of the applicator, holds it steady with the rest of his fingers and pushes down quickly. "There," he says after a moment, "now it's in." He pulls the now-empty applicator out of Dean and lets it drop on the floor. He feels over Dean's hole for the string that should be hanging out, feels it brush over his fingers and sighs in relief; he did it right.  
  
"All set." He lets Dean's leg go and takes a few steps back, full of heat and weakness. He laughs and sits on the bed.  
  
He watches Dean, glorious naked in heat Dean, reach down between his legs and blanch when he feels the string and fuck, _fuck_ , Sam licks his lips and tries not to drill a hole through his jeans.  
  
"Guess we'll have to see how it works, huh?" Sam asks, trying for casual.  
  
"I got a tampon in my ass," Dean says.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I let you put a tampon in my ass."  
  
"You sure did." Sam wipes his sweaty, Dean-slicked palms across his thighs. "You gotta change it every eight hours, but you might, you know. Leak through it before then, so..."  
  
"I don't think this is gonna work," Dean says, "it's like trying to stop up the Hoover dam with bubblegum."  
  
"You still dry?"  
  
Dean twists his arm behind him this time, makes it look like he's fingering himself and Sam snaps his eyes to the floor instead. He surreptitiously adjusts himself while Dean's still looking away.  
  
"Yeah," Dean breathes, splaying his dry fingers, "guess it's working a little bit."  
  
"Okay. So I guess we'll just see how long it lasts, right? Then we can just put a new one in."  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, whatever." Dean comes over to the bed and plops down next to Sam, then falls onto his back. "Think I'm done being conscious for awhile."  
  
  


***  
  


  
The tampon lasts four hours. Sam's shaken awake at ass o'clock in the morning, heavy, hot weight of Dean in his lap saying he needs "another one, wake your ass up Sam."  
  
Sam mutters and pets Dean's knee soothingly, turns his face into his pillow. "Sleeping."  
  
"Goddamit." Sam hears something crinkle, then there's a bunch of plastic being jammed between his teeth. " _Sam_."  
  
Sam tongues the plastic out of his mouth and opens his eyes, sees flowered packaging on his chest and it takes him a moment to rev up the brain power to remember what it is. When he realizes Dean's brought him a tampon like a dog might bring a bone to their owner he laughs helplessly.  
  
"Sam," Dean grits. "You said you weren't gonna laugh."  
  
"'m laughing 'cause, God, what the hell time is it?"  
  
"It's four. That last plunger tapped out twenty minutes ago and now I need another one."  
  
"Can't you do it yourself? 's just like using a syringe. You can't go wrong."  
  
"Sam, c'mon man, I need your help. You said you were gonna help me."  
  
"Yeah," Sam sighs, "guess I did." He knuckles his eyes, blinks the last pull of sleep from them.  
  
Dean grabs the tampon and tears off the wrapping, pushes the applicator into Sam's hand. "Already took the other one out," he says, before he tips off of Sam and starts to get situated on the bed.  
  
Sam stretches an arm to turn the other lamp on so he can see better, then sits up, cracking his jaw on a yawn. He looks over at Dean and wonders how he's supposed to keep a straight head when his mate's fucking _presented_ —shoulders flat on the bed and ass hiked up, trails of slick licked up his inner thighs. "Dean."  
  
"We'll just do it like this I guess," Dean says, sounding stupidly vulnerable, looking stupidly vulnerable and hot with his head resting on his folded arms and his body dropped in a position that tugs at Sam's hindbrain until he's just sitting there, dazed with Dean's heatscent locked in his lungs.  
  
"C'mon Sam. Don't got all night." Dean wags his ass, which puts Sam in motion. He crawls forward and grabs Dean's hip to stop the enticing movement, but his dick has already perked up in interest. Sam sighs explosively, eyes leaving the swell of Dean's ass to follow his spine, up to where Dean's head is turned into his elbow. "Ready?" Sam questions, looking back at Dean's ass and picking up a sheet corner to clean up the slick on Dean's inner thighs and crack.  
  
"What do you think?"  
  
"As ever," Sam chuckles, inwardly falling apart as he sets the applicator's nose against Dean's hole. It's unfair, Dean's unfair, and this fucking weird-ass kink is unfair. Sam shifts on his knees when Dean's hole wraps around the applicator after a little pressure, cock like a heavy nagging weight between his legs, stretching the fabric of his boxer briefs.  
  
When the applicator's in and his fingers are right up against Dean's heat—heat he wants to be inside so badly—Sam's shaking thumb compresses the plunger and then he removes the applicator, holding his lips together to stifle any noise he might make at the length of string left white in the middle of dusky skin, like a bizarre little tail.  
  
"Duh—done," he stutters out to Dean, but he doesn't move, doesn't get up to throw the applicator and wrapper away, just kneels there and stares, turned on and confused.  
  
There's no real way to cover himself when Dean abruptly sits up and turns, not without it being obvious.  
  
"Thanks," Dean starts, word dying in his throat when his eyes catch on Sam's erection. Dean narrows his eyes and pins Sam with a look.  
  
"Um, sorry," is the only thing Sam can think to say, falling back on his haunches which just makes the tent in his shorts more obvious, plastic cracking in his hand when he squeezes it around the applicator and the sound is damning somehow.  
  
Dean sighs and looks away. "I don't believe this. You got a tampon fetish?"  
  
The applicator cuts his palm on another hand clench. "No, I don't Dean, I'm just." With an angry snarl Sam whacks the dumb pink piece of plastic into the wall, rubs his bleeding hand off on his thigh. "I'm just trying to help you like I said I would."  
  
"You don't pitch a tent from helping people Sammy."  
  
"Yeah, but people do get 'em when their mate is waving their wet ass around on your bed and you're... putting something in them when they're in heat. Wires get crossed, man."  
  
"I know you're not that much of a knotbrain Sam—"  
  
"You know what? Just forget it." Sam scoots around until he can cover his hard-on with a bunch of blankets and sheets. "You're good for another four hours. You can put in the next one on your own."  
  
Amusement is starting to creep around the edges of Dean's face, and that's not good. Dean stalks forward until he can fill Sam's lap, weighty and warm. He reaches between them and between his own legs and the tug of his wrist lets Sam know what he's doing. "This turn ya on?"  
  
" _No_ ," Sam says, as hard and firm as he can, nearly reaching Alpha register.  
  
"I don't get it. 's just a piece of cotton on a string. What's sexy about that?" Dean goads, unbearably close to Sam, washing his face in heated breath.  
  
"Nothing," Sam replies, because there isn't, there isn't.  
  
"You got turned on earlier too, I could smell it. That the real reason you been pushin' these things on me?"  
  
Sam shakes his head. "No, no I got them because I wanted to help you."  
  
"Then it's half the reason then, huh?"  
  
"What? No!" Sam glares at Dean, then shoves a hand down between his brother's legs until he can pull on the string lightly. "This? This isn't sexy. It's just a string coming out of your ass, and, and, it's attached to a piece of cotton. It's not sexy." Sam winds the string around his index finger and his heart bleats in his ears. He twirls the string tighter until his fingertip presses over where it's tucked inside Dean's hole and Sam's cock cries, his guts knot up and a thrill surges through him. "It's not," he repeats weakly.  
  
Dean's cock is hard. Sam finds himself staring at it through the tangle of their arms. "So, feminine products do it for you. I'm not judging," Dean says, "two birds with one stone right? What else? Pads, Summer's Eve? You ever look at a Massengill box and feel a little tingly?"  
  
"Dean." Sam unwinds the string but keeps his hand against all that swelter. "God, no."  
  
"Or maybe it's some other thing. Maybe you wanna see me in Mary Janes and spring dresses and call me Deanna."  
  
" _No_. Dean, can we please just go back to sleep? Shit, it's like," Sam looks at the clock, "four thirty in the morning. I'm _tired_."  
  
"I'm hard. Remember that telepathic connection our little heads have? This is your fault man." Dean smiles at him, the low light giving his grin a Cheshire Cat quality. He leans in and kisses Sam, tongue filling his mouth. Sam sighs into it, hoping the damn subject is dropped. He kisses his mate back and goes to slide his palm over Dean's balls, forgets about the string he's somehow, at some point, twirled around his finger again. It tugs like a fishing line and Dean pulls back to stare at him, looking between his eyes.  
  
"Accident," Sam says, shaking his fingers to try and get the string off them, which is like a fucking net around his fingers, and how the hell did that happen and it's damning him all over again, fuck. "Goddamit." Sam plants his other hand in Dean's sternum and tips him back onto the bed, clumsily surges over him. Dean folds his knees and spreads them automatically. Now that Dean's open in the swell of light, Sam can get a good look at the string tied to two of his fingers.  
  
"This is, uh," Sam laughs, working at the knot with his free hand, trying to ignore Dean's splayed legs. "This is really dumb."  
  
"I agree," Dean says, "tampon fetishes are pretty dumb."  
  
"That's not—" Sam cuts himself off with a huff. He pulls the loosened knot over his fingers and takes his hand back with a sigh of relief. He smoothes his hands over Dean's inner thighs, unable to stop the way his eyes run from the drooling head of Dean's cock, down his balls and over his taint to the stupid string hanging out of Dean's ass. There's nothing hot about it. No reason for Sam's eyes to keep roaming back to it, no reason for the hot tingle that bubbles in his veins.  
  
Dean folds his arms behind his head, stretching and spreading further. "Like I said, 'm not judging. Kinda makes this whole thing less embarrassing if you know what I mean."  
  
Sam looks at him. "How would... even if I _did_ , how would that make it less embarrassing?"  
  
Dean licks his lips, pink on pinker. "Makes things more interesting at least." Dean smirks at him, but there's something heavy in his eyes, like he's starting to doubt his own assumptions, like if Sam denies the truth again Dean'll color in humiliation and pin his legs shut.  
  
"You're such a dick," Sam says, and wraps his hand around Dean's. Jig up, bubble popped, Sam touches his other fingers down Dean's perineum until the string touches back, "honest to God, I didn't originally buy these to satisfy some kink. I've never even... these were never a thing for me. I don't even know why they're a thing now." Sam's face heats. "You probably think I'm a weirdo," he mutters.  
  
Dean chuckles softly, hips lifting into Sam's touch. "You got your hand on my dick; be as weird as you want."  
  
"Okay," Sam says insanely, stroking Dean's cock in a light rhythm and playing with the string. "You wanna know why, I guess it's 'cause, you know, you're you and tampons, are tampons." And that didn't sound as dumb in his head.  
  
"Makes sense," Dean says.  
  
Sam shakes his head. "No it doesn't. I don't know what the hell to tell you, or how to say it without sounding like an asshole."  
  
"'cause I keep getting so wet I have to use 'em?" Dean offers. "Have to use something made for chicks, and that floats your canoe?"  
  
"That makes me sound like an asshole."  
  
"You're just a kinky fucker," Dean pants out, his toes curling in the sheets with the rasp of Sam's hand on his cock. Sam glides his palm over the bubbling head until it's slicker, gets Dean's dick wet until it goes through his hand easy.  
  
"Makes you feel better, 'm not as repressed as you think I am."  
  
"What?" Sam asks, taking his hand away from Dean's taint to work down his own boxer briefs. He groans in relief when his cock is finally free, then holds Dean's thighs and pulls him across the bed a bit (easy, always easy to manhandle Dean) until he can drop himself over him, mesh their cocks together.  
  
Dean gasps, hands grabbing for Sam's hair. Sam grinds lightly, propped up on his forearms so he can look down at Dean. He prompts with a lift of his eyebrows, and Dean smiles shakily, takes a deep breath. "'member those panties you found in my duffel?"  
  
"That was a long time ago," Sam says, but yeah, he remembers. "What about 'em?" He churns his pelvis, their hip bones and cocks slipsliding. He wants to roll Dean over again, ease out the tampon and slide inside, or just grind against his ass until he loses it.  
  
"Those weren't some trophy pair. I like... I like wearing 'em."  
  
Sam's too turned on to be surprised. "That s'posed to make me feel better? It's not really a weird kink man. Not like," Sam urges Dean over onto his stomach and scoops his hips up, sets his cock into Dean's crack and slides, the string tickling the underside of his dick in a way that forces a high sound from his throat, "this."  
  
Dean wiggles under him, hips shifting in the clutch of Sam's hands. "You can take it out," he says between pants, and the invitation is clear but Sam thinks this might be better right now, this new maddening sight and sensation. String pulling at his dick, his dick pulling at the string, which is damp near the base; Dean must've leaked through it already.  
  
"Sammm," Dean whines, twisting his neck to look behind him. "C'mon."  
  
"We'll buy you some panties," Sam promises, voice breaking and mending every other vowel. "I'll fuck you with 'em on, just. Just let me do this. 'kay?" Sam reaches under Dean and takes a hold of his cock in a loose fist, lets his rocking hips push and pull Dean's dick through his hand.  
  
Dean pushes his forehead back into the bed and nods. "God, God, okay. Pink ones though. With lace."  
  
"Lace," Sam agrees, head hung between his shoulders, sweat skirting around his eyebrows, watching the white tailstring twist in the middle of all that pink, tickling and tingling against his cock. Doesn't take much longer for him to orgasm, hissing as come spurts over Dean's crack, the string, Dean's lower back dimples and spine.  
  
Floating in pleasure, Sam lethargically rolls Dean over, twines the string around his finger and tugs the soaked tampon out. The room rolls, and his cock gives another blurt of come, wetscent pounding into his lungs. He fills Dean with his fingers, three, then four tucked close together.  
  
Soon as he touches over the smooth swell of Dean's sweet spot, Dean shakes apart, his cock making a white mess up the center of his torso.  
  
Sam dips down, licking over the spent cockhead and up Dean's belly, cleaning him up in a way that's almost instinctive. He ends up at Dean's neck and sucks the stubble heavy skin before he slumps. They breathe in the aftermath, tangled together in the center of the bed with wrapper pieces stuck to Dean's arms and the wet tampon beneath Sam's shin.  
  
Sam's mouth is lax and drooling when Dean pushes at his shoulder and rasps, "you gotta go get another one."  
  
Sam's groin stirs, but he's exhausted and too heavy to move. He thinks he says as much to Dean, or he might say thank you, or he might say nothing at all.  
  
  


 

_end_


End file.
